


Confession

by half_sleeping



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 09:46:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2187087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/half_sleeping/pseuds/half_sleeping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Side: Midorima.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confession

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thanksillpass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanksillpass/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Laughter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1387309) by [merycula (thanksillpass)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanksillpass/pseuds/merycula). 



> Midorima's side of the confession he made to Takao in your fic, dear thanksillpass! I was really harrowed by all of Takao's internal monologue as he tried to make up to Shin-chan, so here's some Midorima internal confusion! I hope you like it!

It takes a long time for Midorima to come to the conclusion that he does about Takao. About them. About their relationship. He has to think it over long and hard, and consider the evidence empirically. That’s important. It has to be- right. Midorima has to be sure what this feeling is, this coiling in his gut and spine, electricity sweeping through his veins like the worst sort of cliche, set to the beat of his thumping heart.

It’s beating faster now, just thinking about his partner. Takao has done this to him. Just the other day, Midorima had found himself looking at the curve of Takao’s neck, and thinking about- filthy things. (He feels a blush sweep across his cheeks even now.) Things like the way Midorima’s hands would fit on Takao's skin, and the angle they would both have to bend to, if-

Midorima stops himself right there. He doesn’t want to embarrass himself; he’s still in school, after all. Class isn’t even over, and already Midorima can tell his notes for today are going to be a mess. For almost the entire past week, in fact. Midorima hasn’t doodled his and Takao’s names across all his covers and margins, but it’s clearly only a matter of time. The sooner Midorima can deal with this, the better.

Midorima mentally sets a time for the- the confession to take place. After practice. It’s then that they’ll have the most privacy, which Midorima understands to be paramount in these situations. There will be fewer distractions. They’ll be, as much as Midorima can contrive it, alone. His luck today is high, but Takao’s is higher. This can only bode well.

After practice.

Practice is, as much as it usually is, a joy and a pleasure. Basketball practice has always been a place for Midorima of relaxation and recreation, discounting always the relentless unceasing pressure to win a National Championship, which to Midorima, is second nature by now. But practices haven’t always been so restful for Midorima, and he’s aware that he has Takao to thank for some of that. Not all. But certain vital aspects.

Passes. Partners. The joy of working together to reach a common goal. The flash of inviting skin when Takao lifts his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face, pale and- Midorima jerks his eyes away. It dislodges his glasses, which he pushes up his face.

Takao sees the movement, and waves with a grin. Midorima stares at him stony-faced and adjusts his lucky item for a better view.

Takao synchronizes with him so sweetly, both on the court and off. Midorima isn’t sure on which side it came up first- was it Takao, striving to keep up with him, or did Midorima somehow adjust himself to match the other boy’s pace? When was it that he first found himself shortening his stride so that Takao didn’t have to run to keep up with him? When did he turn and realise there was a space where he was expecting Takao to be, he who used to pride himself on his self-sufficiency and independence?

“Ending early, Shin-chan?” asks Takao, at the end of practice.

“We’ve been ordered to cease unnecessary club activities,” replies Midorima. Takao nods wisely. It’s obvious that he too feels the burden of the basketball-studies balance they must navigate.

“Rickshaw?” says Takao.

“No,” says Midorima, serenely. This has, of course, been accounted for. They need to be on equal ground while Midorima makes his confession, among other things. Several dating websites were very clear. Moving vehicles were not encouraged.

“Oh,” says Takao. “Oh- just… walk?”

“We do have feet,” says Midorima.

“O...k,” says Takao. “I’ll do some cool down laps, see you in twenty.”

“That will be acceptable,” says Midorima.

Does Takao know how many hours the rickshaw adds to Midorima’s morning commute? It only sometimes benefits Midorima to be carted around in that thing, but it benefits Takao all of the time, improving his stamina and his- posterior region. Legs. That’s give and take. That’s compromise. That’s the basis of a good relationship. That’s- Midorima realises he’s trying to rationalize why they would go well together, why they go together well. That would be getting ahead of himself.

They talk inconsequentially of largely frivolous things as they change and Midorima carefully, modestly, averts his eyes. The time approaches. The time is soon. Midorima, desperately, thinks about how he needs time to _think_.

He’s thought already, a great deal, about how well they do go together. It isn’t such a bad thing, Midorima has found, to be changed by the efforts of people around you. Midorima is quite certain that he too has affected Takao, even positively.

Quite certain.

“Takao-” says Midorima, stopping on their way out of school. Here. Here is deserted enough.

Takao looks up at him. It’s an angle that he used to complain hurt his neck, having to crane up so much to look Shin-chan in the eye. Midorima has already told him that if he wants to grow he should follow best practices and Midorima’s sterling advice, but no, Takao prefers to blame him, Shin-chan, for growing too tall. That’s all on him.

(It’s an angle Midorima pictures often, now, and already his mind is running away with him.)

“Shin-chan, you want something?” says Takao.

That’s how far gone he is, Midorima is sure. Shin-chan, instead of an infantilizing and demeaning nickname, now sounds like the term of endearment Takao has always insisted it is.

And maybe it always has been, in Takao’s voice. There’s a note in it that Midorima has come to hear lately, a mellowing of tone, a softness of syllable. No one else could call his name that way. No one else does. Midorima doesn’t want anyone else to be this close to him, this close to shivering away his skin and leaving him bare.

“Yes, actually,” says Midorima. He adjusts his glasses. “I do.” Midorima clears his throat, and mentally runs over his prepared speech. He has something important- his infatuation, his devotion, his _love_ \- to communicate to Takao.

And all he can do is hope- with all the luck in the world, all the preparation- that Takao will like what he hears.


End file.
